


Corruption

by vicsmoria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Chair Sex, Clothed Sex, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Just a kiss of it, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Possessive Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, angel reader, in case y'all wanna clock me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicsmoria/pseuds/vicsmoria
Summary: Temptation is Crowley's new middle name.





	1. Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. I watched Good Omens yesterday and wrote this today. Enjoy the ride. Also in my world, whenever you get extremely embarrassed your wings inadvertently pop out. Kind of like covering your face with your hands when you blush. Also also this was originally going to be a one-shot but then this became eight pages long. Oops again.

_Goody Two-Shoes._

That’s what he'd been calling you for the past 6,000 years or so. You were a rule-abiding angel - obediently following orders with no questions asked. Always with an eager flap of your wings. Past tense, however, is key here.

Were.

Now you found yourself lazily draped over the arm of a demon’s throne in his own abode, white dress pooling around your thighs. A cup of wine in hand, held up in the air as you idly swished the liquid. You felt like a girl in one of those oil paintings you saw during the Renaissance.

_Like ‘The Venus of Urbino’_

Crowley chuckled, bemused but humored. “Like the what now?” 

“Oh! Nothing,” you said, forgetting the thought with a swig of your drink. You hadn’t realized you’d actually spoken aloud.

He had recently turned you on to the joys of wine: Chardonnay, Sauvignon blanc, Cabernet, the list goes on. Those _uppity_ Archangels had created a trend amongst the humans. They claimed the stuff was a vice, abhorrent, and _immensely_ sinful. How drab.

Later on, they passed it down the angel hierarchy as gospel, essentially condemning it. It was clearly meant for slothful humans with no faith. You made it a priority to avoid it at _all_ costs, lest you eternally displease your overseers. 

However, it seemed Crowley was to be much more... _persuasive_ than the hogwash lectures from Gabriel and Michael. The influence they had over you was unraveling, as much as you tried to deny it.

For this, Crowley seemed to find quite a bit of fun in teasing you throughout the centuries. He ruffled your feathers, quite literally. You had always been by the books - no ifs, ands, or buts. After all, the higher-ups did assign you to tote after Aziraphale once he “lost” his flaming sword. Keep him on the straight and narrow. You hadn't expected the infamous snake of Eden to be along for the ride. 

Crowley had quickly made a game with his friend on how many times in one conversation he could make you scoff in contempt. His current record was seventeen.

But the tit for tat was never malicious in nature like his kind was so inclined towards. Much like Aziraphale, he thoroughly enjoyed your company and the banter along with it. 

Perhaps even a tad _more_ than Aziraphale.

Try as you may, you couldn’t fathom why the angel would ever keep the company of a demon like Crowley. Demons and angels went together as well as one could expect of fire and gasoline. But despite all your angelic instincts, you decided to keep their friendship (and yours) out of your reports to Heaven.

And as much as you tried to remain prickled towards him, you soon found yourself inching closer and closer to Crowley. 

“So I told Cain, ‘In my humble opinion, I think Abel isn’t worth his sheeps' shit.’ I thought he would take it out on his brother’s herd, not beat him to death with a rock,” Crowley explained with an exasperated sigh. “Alas.” 

Appalled but not surprised, you clapped a hand over your mouth. “ _You_ aided in creating humankind’s first killer?!” Pride tugged at the corner of Crowley’s lips at your declaration. 

“Well when you put it like that, it sounds far more exciting doesn’t it?”

You threw a velvet cushion at his head - he dodged it with a laugh. “Crowley! That’s terrible,” you squealed. Crowley leaned back on his palms along his stone table, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“In my defense, Cain _did_ receive protection and promises of vengeance from God afterwards,” he said as if it were something to boast about. 

“Only for the price of everlasting exile,” you barked back dryly. Crowley regarded you from behind his sunglasses, a devilish (no pun intended) smirk on his face. 

“Oh sorry, _princess_ , I forget how positively tame you are in comparison.” Pink rushed to your cheeks at the emphasis on your new nickname. He had a plethora of them - sometimes a new one for each day of the week. 

But the innuendo behind this one had your wings twitching against your back, eager to hide your newfound bashfulness. It was a habit you inadvertently developed whenever Crowley decided to get especially cheeky with you. 

“E-excuse me,” your voice wavered, rising an octave with each pronounced syllable. Crowley’s simper only grew. He brought the bottle of wine on the table to his lips, ignoring the glass he had already poured. 

“You’re not exactly the most anarchic, princess. Peace and order appeals to you too much to have any _real_ fun,” he mocked with a click of his tongue.

_How dare he!_

You turned your nose up at him, “I’ll have you know, Mister Crowley, that I can be quite adventurous.” As if to prove the sentiment, you raised your glass at him. “See? I’m drunk, with a _demon_!” 

That last point was made to really drive home the fact of how _bad_ you were. Crowley was not impressed. He took a hearty sip from his bottle, rolling his eyes in the process. Your frustration only grew at his dismissal. 

Crowley regarded you as he drank, loving how the remnants of your blush left your cheeks an enchanting shade of red. You always seemed to captivate him regardless of circumstances. To say he was attracted to your purity, amongst other things, wouldn’t be too far from the truth

A purity he selfishly wanted _all_ to himself.

The demon found himself quite enamored with you for reasons that would be too... _saccharine_ for someone of his ilk to admit. But when you look at him with your big doe-eyes, the heart he _swears_ he doesn’t have beats just a little bit faster. Though he persistently insists it’s just to appear more human when Aziraphale inquires.

He can’t help it. The moment that innocent gaze turns into a fiery glower, he swears he’s never seen anything more intense in his existence. 

Sultry. That’s the best word he can use to describe you right you right now. Pursing your lips on the rim of your glass, you attempt to quell your agitation with wine. Your free arm hand loosely grasps the back of the chair, head lolled. He took note of how much leg you were showing as you gently swung your feet back and forth. There wasn’t an ounce of virtue in your posture.

If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought you a succubus, attempting to disarm and seduce him. 

A thought crossed his mind as he released the bottle from his mouth with a _pop._

“You know,” he began, slowly licking the remnants of wine off his lips. You noticed, and tried to ignore the thrumming in your chest. “I bet you’ve never indulged in any of the other _physical_ pleasures humanity has to offer,” he said lasciviously. 

Plush feathers tickled your spine as you desperately tried to contain your wings. You lurched forward in your seat, choking on wine while he has the gaul to snicker at you. 

“The audacity-“

“Well have you,” he cuts you off before you can chastise him. You’re taken aback by how forward he’s being. Petulance then fills you.

“O-of course I have,” you sputter pathetically. He quirked an eyebrow, silently asking you to continue. You face forward, straightening yourself out in a sad attempt to gather more composure. 

“...There was a sweet Parisian lad who took me to Carnaval way back when. He tried to teach me to dance and, well, you know how the saying goes. In the end he graced me with a kiss on the cheek under the moonlight. Oh, it was all rather romantic.”

“Quite the little minx, ain’t you? I feel like a sinner in church just listening to ya, princess,” Crowley huffed, throwing back another gulp. 

You were burning up more than you knew possible. While other ethereal inhabitants may choose to partake in certain... _activities,_ you decided to stick to modesty. To be chaste. It’s how all proper angels should be! 

_Right?_

“And I suppose you have then,” you grumbled, defeated.

With that, Crowley’s demeanor shifted. Previous inhibitions gone from a simple question. 

He placed the bottle back down, removing his sunglasses in the process. Serpentine eyes, half lidded and glowing a faint yellow in the evening light, bore into you. His legs spread tantalizingly.

Another pang against your ribs. 

It suddenly ceased when he pushed himself up and began to saunter over to you.

“Why yes,” he said sensually as he approached. 

“Yes.”

_Step._

“I.”

_Step._

“Have.” His hand found a perch on the ornate backrest as he towered above you. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and stood between them. You inhaled sharply, your glass slipping from your grasp and shattering harshly on the floor beside you. Neither of you paid the mess any mind. 

Crowley chuckled darkly, daring to lean in closer. “ _Lust_ , quite an enjoyable thing really. Lucifer truly did the world a kindness with that particular circle of Hell,” he mused, looking downward almost fondly. His free hand caressed your cheek, featherlight. 

Ironically, you felt heavier. The weight of your unspoken attraction to the demon was crashing down upon you. You tried, for countless years, to subdue any _unseemly_ desires. An angel could not intimately coexist with their mortal enemy, a demon. 

_...Right?_

It had always been a challenge the more attached you became to Earth. _To Crowley._ Your efforts were tumultuous, yet overall successful. But now, in this moment, it was unbearable.

_Suffocating._

Again Crowley slid closer, noses mere inches apart. The sweetness of the wine still lingered on him. “Skin on skin. A heat in your belly that can only be satiated by submitting to carnal urges. Kissing, biting, _fucking,”_ he purred against the shell of your ear. 

An unfamiliar shiver wracked your body; you’ve never been this close to another soul before. The rumble of his impish laughter sent that same shiver lower that time.

Those eyes, snakelike but bewitching, they had to be putting you in some sort of trance. It was intoxicating - may it forever bound you within it’s honied depths. 

_Those eyes._

Behind them was longing, need, _warmth_. 

“Tell me, _Angel,_ ” his thumb traces your plush bottom lip. “Would you like to know?” 

_Ensnared._

“K-know what?” The words were barely a whisper. 

_The devil always hears._

You planted your own Garden of Eden and reached for the apple of your own accord. The snake hisses with delight from beyond the underbrush. 

“Would you like to know what _it’s_ like?” His lips are almost upon yours now, waiting patiently for what they knew would eventually come.

Temptation is a cruel master. 


	2. Satisfaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on my bullshit! To all those who were patiently (or impatiently) waiting for the conclusion of my stinky snake boy filth, sorry I took so long. I hope you enjoy ✨

* * *

If there was ever a time for doubt, now would certainly be it. You, an angel, currently being seduced by the charms of a demon. 

Christ alive, you should’ve been begging to Heaven above and back for salvation! Being created for a purpose, and centuries of following said purpose, had left you with a firm understanding of what your duties in this universe were. 

Succumbing to the sexual prowess of a nefarious Hell inhabitant certainly wasn’t a part of the job description.

Yet here you were, a newfound ache within you that seemed to keep traveling _lower._ The promise of satisfaction on the tip of Crowley’s tongue. Chastity suddenly wasn’t a word in your vocabulary. 

Lines between demons and angels - _good and evil_ \- became blurred beyond the point of recognition. 

In Heaven, you heard tales of the flames that would eternally torture the damned. Relishing in the warmth of Crowley’s thumb against your lip, and the heat of him between your legs, you wondered if this was what the stories spoke of. 

_Let the fire consume me then._

Your moral compass realigned momentarily. The order you followed, the expectations of an angel, pushed back. _The fear._

“I shouldn’t…we _can’t,_ ” you said weakly. Your protests were half hearted at best. Crowley could sense it, you could _feel_ it.

“Forget ‘shouldn’t’. Forget ‘can’t’,” slender fingers found their way into your hair, carding through its curls gently. 

He had long since abandoned subservience. No one would tell him what to do or how to do it anymore. His mouth was a breath away from your own. “What do you _want_?” 

Want. You never believed what you wanted mattered until now.

Others always came first, put on a pedestal that you were meant to build for them with your bare hands. Gabriel had once told you that you were merely a pawn in the Almighty’s “Great Plan”. Pawns are only meant to serve for a greater purpose.

Since the beginning, you hadn’t considered yourself to be an individual. To have autonomy - the ability to act outside a list of ten commandments. But with Crowley’s hand tangled in your locks, tugging just enough for your scalp to burn?

_Heaven and Hell be damned._

For a demon, Crowley had the patience of a Saint - waiting for you to take the plunge. 6,000 years had lead up to just a few more seconds. Your lips parted and uttered your fate.

“ _You.”_

The culmination of six centuries was behind his kiss - searing and unrestrained. 

Raw, undiluted hunger had ravaged him since the day he laid eyes on you. No amount of human trysts could’ve satiated him - it only temporarily relieved or entertained. To finally have you, such a sweet confection - he could no longer restrain himself.

More. More. _More._

You had never been kissed with such _ferocity_ (not that you have been kissed much prior). Crowley’s lips moved against yours, effectively pulling small sighs from you with each pass. Cupping your jaw, he angled your head upwards allowing him to deepen your connection.

A forked tongue traced your bottom lip, imploring to be let in. You gasped in surprise, retracting from the foreign sensation. Crowley grinned wolfishly at you, endeared by your naivety. 

Allow _him_ to teach you. 

“Open your mouth for me, Angel,” he commanded. It was a beacon for your inexperience and you obeyed. He found he quite liked being in charge - giving the orders as opposed to receiving them. And with you, it was going to be an absolute _delight_. 

“Yes that’s it,” he cooed, leaning back down to capture your mouth once more. His tongue met yours, intoxicated with how divine you tasted. It’s a new addiction that he hoped is never quelled. 

You gripped the lapels of his jacket with white knuckles. Overwhelmed by so many new sensations, you needed something tangible to hold onto in order to ground yourself - to reaffirm this was all _real_.

You were not left disappointed. 

Much to your dismay, Crowley retreated and a small whine left your throat. You pursued, attempting to resume the previous engagement. He pressed a digit against your lips, tutting at your eagerness.

“Patience, Angel. We’re just getting started,” his voice is honeyed - sweet with unspoken promises of what’s to come. He pushed you back against the velvet lining of his throne - you wordlessly comply. His delight is palpable. “Good girl.” 

His praise would quickly become your new gospel.

Crowley rewarded you with a chaste peck before directing his attention elsewhere. He nipped at your jaw - a perfect balance of pleasure and pain - before he kissed downward. 

Your neck, slender and exposed, received the brunt of his attention. He found it to be terribly unmarred. He aimed to rectify that. 

A thumb rested idly on your pulse point, hammering wildly, as he latched onto the middle of your neck. You couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped you. Had you always been capable of such sounds? 

You didn’t think so, but Crowley revealed himself to be such a brilliant composer, stringing together beautiful angelic melodies out of seemingly nothing. 

He left a trail of blossoming red bites, reaching all the way to your collarbone. Your breath became more labored the further down he ventured: neck, chest, stomach, hips. 

Enveloped in ignorant bliss, you hadn’t even realized he pushed the skirts of your dress up as he kneeled before you. You peer at him through thick lashes, tilting your head in an inquisitive manner. 

“What are you-“ he hushed you with a well-placed kiss to your inner thigh. 

_Time for another lesson._

Your breathing staccatoed as he pulled your undergarments off, placing one leg over his shoulder. He traced languid circles on your thigh with his tongue, drifting upward ever so slightly. Inch by _painstaking_ inch.

Any prior notions to your following had been abandoned. The aforementioned second ring of Hell had become your new domain.

You’re laid before him, exposed. He can’t help but think you bare a striking resemblance to that Venus of Urbino that you mentioned earlier. 

_Bugger ‘resembles’._

You’re a reimagining personified - painted with a color palette of his choosing. White and red blended together to create the pink hue of arousal dusting your cheeks. Eyes glazed, you stared at him with the same paralyzing intensity as the Goddess herself. Silently daring him to finish the work he started.

_Venus eat your heart out._

“C-Crowley?” You were panting, desperate. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming, from between your legs. Tongue mere _inches_ from the source of your incessant throbbing. He smirked, smug as anything, before continuing his teachings.

“Love is a sacrament best taken _kneeling_ , dear Angel.”

It was now his turn for hands in his hair. 

With haste, Crowley’s tongue delved into you and suddenly the room was spinning.

He didn’t spare you from his onslaught, fully savoring your essence. Your pleasure-induced whimpers were just icing on top of an already _delicious_ cake. He was ravenous; patience was a luxury he just couldn’t afford right now.

If this was the experience of intimacy that you were missing out on, you had been truly deprived _._

You tugged at his ginger locks (much to his masochistic delight) as he continued his indecent ministrations. It only urged him on, licking up and down in a rapid, relentless cadence. 

Hellfire itself must’ve been surging through your veins. You were hot - unbelievably, _unbearably_ hot. Your elevated leg trembled, toes curling. He rumbled against you; the vibrations shooting pleasantly up your spine had you mewling in euphoria. 

He pulled back - you almost cried from the loss of contact. His tongue darted out from between his lips, glistening with what was wholly you on them.

“You taste absolutely _heavenly_ , Angel.” 

Before you could retort, he latched himself onto the bundle of nerves you never dared to explore. You threw your head back in a fit of passion, a lewd moan escaping into the room. 

He sucked on your clit feverishly; jolts of ecstasy traveled all the way down to your fingertips. You tried to restrain your cries in the throes of passion to no avail. Your outbursts only further invigorated him, swirling the tips of his tongue against you incessantly. 

A coil rapidly tightening in the pit of your stomach, sending waves of heat surging from your head to the tips of your toes, was becoming intolerable. You wanted to scream, to beg Crowley for any form of alleviation, but in your current state it would come out as an incoherent mess. 

Crowley hummed in satisfaction, withdrawing from you once more despite your discordant protests for the contrary. He could sense you were on the precipice of something _magnificent_ for the first time. 

Taking your wrists, he pulled you up and to his chest in one effortless motion. With a delicate twirl your stomach was pressed down on his marble table, rear raised. You bucked slightly when his hips pressed flush against yours, feeling the hardness straining against the confines of his jeans. 

His arm wrapped around your waist while his free hand lifted your skirts again and made quick work of his zipper. Your heartbeat was thrumming erratically in your ears; suddenly you forgot how to breathe.

You immediately became hyper-aware of your lack of... _participation_ _._ “Crowley I’ve...I-I’ve never,” your breasts heaved against the cool stone. He soothed your unease with a kiss to the back of your neck. 

“Fret not, Angel. I’ll be _gentle_ ,” he purred before he sank into you fluidly. 

You thought you could want for not, that you were complete. 

How wrong you were. 

With Crowley fully inside you, a new ideology came to mind.

You felt whole _._

He paused, allowing you time for the pain to evolve to pleasure as you grew accustomed to his girth. You writhed underneath him, discomfort assuaged and replaced with neediness. Crowley was more than happy to answer your every beck and call. 

Crowley began to move, slow for just a beat before his self-restraint crumbled.

His tempo turned erratic and hard _._ With each rut he pushed you deeper, deeper, and _deeper_ into pleasure’s embrace.

You welcomed it, the depravity, succumbing completely to his unleashed passion. It’s only amplified as he pressed against your back and whispered filthy nothings against the shell of your ear. 

“We like that, do we? Having your virtue sullied by the likes of me?” His questions are laced with a licentious satisfaction.

You nod madly, wondering if this is how Eve felt when she took her first curious bite of the apple. The veil being lifted and revealing infinite experiences that were cruelly hidden out of reach. 

The arm around your waist loosened and Crowley used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place against his, stilling completely. He rocked against you tantalizingly slow, friction making your nerve-endings sing _._

“I knew you would. I’ve thought about you for ages now. How you would feel, how pretty you would sound,” he accentuated his points with a well-calculated thrust.

“Tell me, how does it feel _pet_?” Another new nickname, on the route to becoming his favorite of all. “To give yourself to me? To be corrupted? _”_

He poses a question he already knows the answer to.

You look back at him and with absolute certainty you tell him.

“ _Fucking_ amazing.” 

The most glorious confession he’s ever received. 

Crowley drove into you with a force that left you short of breath and a beautiful array of colors blooming behind closed eyes. Your breathing became ragged, inhaling sharply as the pressure in your core was reaching its breaking point, spreading through every inch of you. 

That pressure kept rising, rising, and rising until it hit its threshold. You surrendered yourself willingly to the carnality - enraptured.

In perfect tandem, your wings had unfurled to their full span as white-hot electricity transversed through your body. A plunging shudder wracked you, knees buckling as you lost your vision. A cry of relief fell short in your throat as your gluttony for pleasure had been fully satiated.

Crowley followed suit, finding his release as he marked the space in between where your wings met your shoulders with a bite. A commemoration of this union and more to come. 

As you attempted to calm your wild heart rate, Crowley removed himself from you. He gently swept you up into his arms and you felt like you were merely floating, enveloped by post-orgasm opalescence. 

Crowley set you down delicately on his bed, reverently kissing your forehead with an uncharacteristic tenderness. Revelations were not exclusive to you tonight, it seemed.

His eyes had softened considerably as he looked at you. You smiled coyly, giggling tiredly. 

“Is _that_ how you tempted Eve back in the Garden?” There was a spark of mischief in your jest that didn’t go unnoticed. He huffed in amusement, playing along. 

“No, never really crossed my mind with her to be quite honest. Besides,” he grins at you, “I always thought you were _much_ prettier.” You use the last of your energy to swat affectionately at his arm. 

“Cheeky,” you mumbled into his pillow, body heavy with sleep. 

As you drifted off, strangely lighter and unburdened, you believe you heard the loosening of 6,000 year old shackles in the air.

_“I love you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story, hit that motherfucking like button baybee!!! I want to write more for Good Omens, if you have any suggestions hit me up on tumblr @victoodles. I’m trying to become a writing blog but I’m failing miserably.


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